by Jane Prinsep

Created on: August 31, 2009

"Cheeseburgers and Miracles"

Shining hair, gleaming nails, radiant skin, endless energy and a slow, but sure, development of a natural instinct for Motherhood; for me, this represents a set of pregnancy myths I had been far too eager to believe when I dreamed of having a child.

I had a rather different experience of pregnancy; the kind they don't tell you about in books.

My promised "pregnancy glow" was more of a "glower of hatred" directed at my boyfriend, whenever opportunity would allow. My hoped-for "pregnancy bloom" was more like a constant stream of vitriolic accusations towards him, such as "what the blooming hell do you think you're doing, leaving your dirty underwear on the floor for me to pick up when I'm in THIS condition?!"

Hormones raging, it appeared that, in my pre-natal group of eight or so, I seemed to be one of only two people who were finding things tough, or at least had the decency to admit it. My days were not spent poring over Mother and Baby magazines, or putting together "Baby Expenses" spreadsheets comparing the cost of items we needed, from Mamas and Papas to Mothercare. My days were spent placing everything at right angles in my home, desperately trying to control the raging thoughts in my head; the ones that were screaming at me about the responsibility that lay ahead.

I developed Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, problems with my pubic bone, high blood pressure and insane addictions to all things bad for me; spicy curries (that only served to increase my heartburn), McDonalds cheeseburgers; not quarter-pounders, my almost-daily need could only be fulfilled by those cheap flimsy ones with rubbery cheese and soggy gherkins. I could manage three in one sitting, particularly if I had managed to sneak out alone.

Well, perhaps not all my addictions were bad, as I also craved sex and nectarines, particularly at the weekend. Not necessarily enjoying both as part of the same activity, you understand, although I am sure I would have been game. But bearing in mind that, due to the constant nagging, bitching and whining, my boyfriend was about as receptive to me as you would be to a serious case of measles, with a touch of chicken pox thrown in, "intimate relations" were well and truly off the agenda for the time being.

So I made do with a punnet of nectarines for my weekend kicks. In fact, my boyfriend, rather comically, took to sidling up to me suggestively on a Saturday night and whispering in my ear, "Fancy a punnet?" He may as well have offered me a night

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